Black Horse (4 page)

Turning toward White Buffalo, Black Horse wiped the crude smile from his face. He bowed his head humbly toward the older man, carefully choosing each of his words before he spoke. White Buffalo was a man to reckon with, especially since Black Horse hoped to make him a strong ally—in more ways than one.

“You and your daughter are very kind to thank me, but I gladly bring food to my people.” Black Horse’s expression grew serious. Then, hitting a closed fist against his chest, he added in an emotional tone, “I will do anything for my people. I will die for my people.” Though his words were not spoken to impress, Black Horse could not miss the look of admiration on the older man’s face.

Briefly, Black Horse let his gaze settle back on Meadow. She did not seem to impress as easily as her father. A growing sense of determination flooded through him. He had never been injured seriously in battle, and he would not allow this woman to wound his pride now. Proving to her that he was a good man was a challenge he was looking forward to.

White Buffalo turned toward his daughter, and words began to tumble rapidly from his mouth. “Black Horse
is very brave, and his medicine is very strong.” The old man smiled widely, and little lines crinkled around his dark eyes. “I would be proud to call him my son…and my daughter’s husband.” White Buffalo’s announcement seemed to surprise the medicine man as much as it did everyone else. He understood now why earlier today he had had such a strong sense that Meadow was about to meet the man she would marry.

Meadow was speechless as she turned to stare at her father. She dared not look in Black Horse’s direction, because she did not want to see his reaction to her father’s ridiculous proposal. He couldn’t be serious—could he? An uncomfortable silence followed.

“I—I would also be proud to be related to s-such a great medicine man,” she heard Black Horse stammer. Meadow remained rooted to the spot. This could not be happening. She was even more shocked when Black Horse leaned toward her and almost touched his face against hers as he added, “And I would consider myself the luckiest man in the Sioux Nation to have such a beautiful, shy and modest wife.”

The shame his words induced made Meadow’s anger return. She tried to think of a way to get out of this terrible predicament. Then, she thought of her aging father. To disagree or refuse this proposal would be to go against his wishes. She would also be disobeying the customs of the tribe, as it was not uncommon for parents to arrange marriages for their children. She drew in a trembling breath. There was only one thing she could do now.

She focused on the depths of Black Horse’s intense gaze. His expression was set in a determined mask that told her he would not be swayed from this course.
She forced a weak smile and nodded her head as she stared at the ground in resignation.

White Buffalo chuckled with satisfaction and caught his daughter in a loving embrace. Meadow glanced up at her father but could not even begin to fake a tiny bit of the happiness that he was obviously feeling at this moment.

The old medicine man released his hold on Meadow and reached out to slap Black Horse playfully on the forearm. “We will have a smoke to celebrate this forthcoming marriage.”

“And another drink,” Black Horse added. Had he imagined the high-pitched tone in his voice? He glanced at Meadow. Her face was drained of all color. She looked as dazed as he felt.

When she glanced his way, the sparks of anger that flashed in her eyes excited him. Her hostile feelings were quite obvious, and Black Horse was sure she would rather be eaten by a grizzly bear than marry him.

The last thing he had planned to do was to take a wife, but White Buffalo was an honored man among the Sioux, and Black Horse would never disrespect the elder man. Nor could he dishonor his daughter. Maybe it was time for him to think about something other than fighting his enemies. He glanced at Meadow again. She looked at him as if she considered him her enemy. To his surprise, Black Horse realized that if this marriage was really going to take place, it was important to him that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He sensed he had his work cut out for him.

He would be responsible for this woman in all ways, and for her family, too. He glanced back at White
Buffalo. In spite of his advanced age, it did not appear that the powerful and capable medicine man would require too much of his attention. His gaze moved to Meadow again. He would like to be responsible for teaching her the ways of lovemaking between a man and a woman. She had already taught him something. Until a few short minutes ago, he never would have believed that there was a woman alive that he would actually think about marrying. His heart began to beat faster. Well, if he was going to take a wife, she might as well be one that made hot lava rush through his veins.

White Buffalo pulled a catlinite pipe from the sash that was tied around his waist. The long pipe was adorned with a carved ea gle’s head. Porcupine quills and feathers dangled from leather ties at one end. He grabbed the beaded pouch that was also hanging from his belt, which contained the potent tobacco they would pack in the pipe. “Come then,
mi-cin-ksi
, we have more to celebrate now.”

Black Horse nodded obediently. White Buffalo had just called him
mi-cin-ksi
—son. Without looking at Meadow again, he began to walk away with long strides. He felt a desperate need to sit by the fire with the other warriors, to drink and smoke and let his pounding heart become calm. Then, maybe, he could escape from the emotions that were raging through him now…the ones he once thought he would never allow himself to feel. He had already lost too many people that he cared about in his lifetime. The thought of marrying and starting a family only increased his fear that he would lose more people that he loved. Uninvited, thoughts of living a peaceful life with the
green-eyed woman here in the lush forests of Canada filled his mind. Was that possible?

Then, reality intruded. He remembered what the white men had done to his people, and why he could never find peace again.

How could he even think of taking a white woman to be his wife? Underneath the Indian dress, Meadow was still a white woman—and so his greatest enemy. But the thought of what was underneath her doeskin dress redirected his attention. He felt the swell of his manhood tighten against his breechcloth. The color of her skin would not matter once he had her firm young body pinned beneath him on the soft fur robes in his tepee.

He glanced at White Buffalo once more and was reminded of how different his people were from the white men. The Sioux judged one another by what was in a person’s heart. Meadow must have a heart like a Sioux, or else White Buffalo would not have accepted her as his own daughter so easily.

Yes, Black Horse told himself, he could claim
this
white woman for his wife.

White Buffalo handed the younger man the long pipe. Smoke trailed up from the narrow end and the strong odor of tobacco filled Black Horse’s nostrils. He took the pipe and was reminded of how it was customary for a Sioux man to court a woman by playing love songs on a flute, bringing gifts to her father and engaging in silly courtship games. An impatient grunt escaped from Black Horse at the thought of partaking in these useless rituals. Meadow probably wouldn’t appreciate the lengths to which he was willing to go for her, but his intuition told him that she was worth it.

“I cannot marry him!”

“But you must not disobey your father,” Gentle Water replied. She pulled the woven blanket from Meadow’s head. She had been hiding under it for most of the evening. “White Buffalo sent me to get you now. Get up before you get us both in trouble.”

Meadow shook her head defiantly. “No, I will not go. It’s too humiliating to be around that man after we watched him—you know?”

A giggle escaped Gentle Water as she attempted to pull Meadow to her feet. “Do you really think a man like Black Horse would marry you just to pay you back for watching him take a bath?”

“Maybe,” Meadow retorted. Her logic sounded ridiculous even to her own ears. She satisfied her friend by allowing her to pull her up to a standing position. With her hands on her hips, Meadow faced the other girl. She had not lit a fire, so only a faint sliver of moonlight shone through the smoke outlet in the top of the tepee, and she could not see Gentle Water’s face clearly.

“Why would a man like Black Horse want to marry me?” Meadow asked. Because she still had no intention of going, she had not changed into her ceremonial gown or fixed her hair for the eve ning’s festivities.

“Maybe he likes you,” Gentle Water said with an accompanying shrug. She did not tell her dear friend that many members of the tribe were also baffled as to why the chief would want to take a woman who was not a Sioux as his wife. She had heard whispered comments at the celebration to night, but no one wanted to anger Black Horse or insult White Buffalo, so they were careful not to voice their opinions too loudly.

Meadow wished now that she had lit a fire so that she could look into her friend’s eyes as they talked. Something else was bothering Gentle Water, and she could usually read hidden thoughts in her friend’s expression.

“Have you heard Black Horse talking about me tonight?” She drew in a worried breath. What did he really think of her?

Since they were still holding hands, she pulled Gentle Water to the tepee entrance and yanked back the flap to allow the pale moonlight to enter. “You must tell me if you know something!”

Gentle Water shrugged and glanced down at the ground. Meadow had been here almost all of her life, and because of White Buffalo’s complete devotion to her, no one had ever dared suggest that she didn’t belong here. Until to night, Gentle Water had never heard a word said against Meadow, but regardless of how much they all loved and accepted her, it did not change the fact that she was not a Sioux.

“I know of nothing that he has said,” Gentle Water said. It was true. Black Horse had not said anything about the impending marriage at all. Only White Buffalo had been raving all eve ning about the upcoming union. The young chief sat at his side, merely smiling
and nodding and looking as if he was in some sort of a trance.

Meadow drew in a deep breath. She was certain Gentle Water was keeping something from her. “What has been said about the marriage?

“Your father is very, very proud that his future son-in-law is such an admired man in the tribes. He has told everyone!” Gentle Water followed her out into the open as Meadow exited the tepee. “Let’s go before he comes to see why I have not yet returned with you.”

Meadow turned toward the other girl. Now, with the full force of the pale moonlight shining down upon them, she could study her face more closely as she asked, “Black Horse has said nothing—nothing at all about the marriage or about me?”

Gentle Water shook her head and repeated, “No, Black Horse has not said a word about you or the marriage. Why do you care so much? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I never said that I didn’t like him.” Meadow threw her hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture. This was all too confusing. At her age, she should be thrilled that she was getting married, and especially to a powerful, virile war chief.

Meadow’s stomach started to ache. Maybe his reluctance to speak about the proposal meant that he had no intention to follow through with her father’s plan.

Gentle Water eased her arm around her friend’s shoulder and gave her an affectionate hug. “I think you like Black Horse more than you care to admit.”

“I don’t even know him,” Meadow returned. “The only thing I know about him is that he is—” Her
words faltered as she began to recall the sight of his muscled, naked body.

“He’s the most handsome of all the warriors and chiefs, and he looks wonderful without his breechcloth, and—” She giggled when she heard Meadow’s gasp. “Oh, you didn’t notice that, did you?”

“I don’t ever want to think or talk about it again,” Meadow retorted as she started back into the tepee. She did not want Gentle Water to know just how affected she was by the dangerously handsome chief.

Laughing, Gentle Water grabbed her arm as she tried to escape. “Oh, no you don’t. Your father said to bring you back with me, and I’m not leaving here without you.”

Meadow pulled Gentle Water along with her as she ducked back through the tepee door. “No, I will not go, so you might as well go back and tell my father that I am not coming!”

Gentle Water dropped her arms down at her sides in exasperation. “Some are saying that you should be grateful that such a great man even wants to marry a white wo—” She cut her words off and threw her hand over her mouth.

Meadow’s footsteps faltered as the other girl’s words took meaning. Gentle Water had never spoken to her about the differences in their nationalities in all the years they had known each other. “Gentle Water, does it matter to you that I’m not Sioux, that I…am white?” she asked in a low voice.

Gentle Water reached out in the darkness and put her arm around Meadow’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, my dear friend. I do not judge you by the color of your skin, you have to know that.”

“But…” Meadow turned to face Gentle Water, once again wishing that she could clearly see the other girl’s expression as they spoke. “Obviously there are others in the village who do judge me because of this, and Black Horse is probably one of them.” Gentle Water’s silence was not the answer she had hoped for.

Meadow drew in a trembling breath and moved away from her friend. She made her way to the mound of fur robes at the far corner of the lodge that served as her bed. She knew the location of every item in this tepee and did not need light to see where she was going. As she slumped down on the furs, she tried to force back the tears that were threatening to fall. “Please let me be alone now, Gentle Water.”

“I can’t leave you like this,” Gentle Water said as she cautiously made her way across the darkened lodge. “It was not my intent to say something that would hurt you. It’s just that I overheard a few comments to night about Black Horse not marrying one of his own. They did not mean anything bad by their words.” Her foot touched the pile of robes, and she sank down and reached out until she had located Meadow’s hand. As she clasped it, she added, “Even though you look different, you are still one of us. Please believe me.”

Meadow wanted to believe her friend, but there were so many mixed emotions clouding her thoughts. Since she knew nothing other than the desperate plight of the Indians she had lived among for almost her entire life, and because of the horrors she had witnessed due to the white man’s hatred for the Indian race, she had been able to rationalize the tragic events that had brought her to the Sioux village all those years ago.

White Buffalo had told her that her real family had
been traveling with a wagon train that was headed west. Just days before the attack on the wagons, white soldiers had massacred an entire Sioux village less than thirty miles away. Most of the Sioux who had been killed were women, children and elderly men. The Sioux retaliation against the wagon train was as senseless as the soldiers’ actions against the defenseless Sioux village.

Several years ago, Meadow had asked her adoptive mother if there had been other captives taken from the wagon train. Little Squirrel had told her that there had been several other children, along with a couple of young women. When she’d asked Little Squirrel what had happened to them, the older woman had replied, “Sometimes, the things we do not know are best kept that way.”

She often wondered if White Buffalo and Little Squirrel would have felt the same toward her if their own children had lived. Sadly, both of their offspring—a three-year-old son and an infant girl—had died of smallpox many years before Meadow’s capture. They had not been blessed with any other children. When she had been brought to their village, White Buffalo and Little Squirrel had made her a member of their family in the Making Relatives Ceremony. After smoking from a sacred pipe, sharing food and praying to
Wakan Tanka
, the adoption had been complete. Meadow had no doubt that her life would have been drastically different if it had not been for White Buffalo and his dear wife, Little Squirrel.

As Meadow had grown up in her adopted Indian world, she was constantly made aware of why the Indians were forced to react so violently: they were losing
their homelands, their families and even their heritage. The only thing the whites had not yet stolen away from them was their dignity.

Now, for the first time, Meadow wondered why she had not been killed with the rest of her family. “Gentle Water,” she said in a low tone, “I’m just realizing that I don’t know who—or what—I am. I’m not Sioux, but yet I don’t feel anything like a white woman, either. I suddenly feel like an outcast with all people.”

Gentle Water tightened her hold on Meadow’s hand. “I feel terrible that my careless words have caused you so much pain. Next to my grandmother, you are the person I love the most. You have more than proven your loyalty to our people, so I do not understand why some members of the tribe would care if Black Horse takes you as his wife. I think they are just jealous.”

Meadow clutched her friend’s hand in the dark tepee. She did not doubt White Buffalo’s love, or Gentle Water’s either, but she wasn’t sure how she would ever feel at ease with the rest of the tribe, now that she knew that they did not accept her completely.

“It does not matter anyway,” Meadow said. “I will never be Black Horse’s wife, so there is no need for anyone to worry. He is still free to marry one of his own kind. When my father suggested this, and when Black Horse accepted, they had probably drunk far too much whiskey. I’m sure that once they are both thinking clearly again, they will realize that White Buffalo’s suggestion is not possible, and then this whole crazy thing will be forgotten.”

Gentle Water sighed heavily before answering. “Perhaps you are right about your father, but I don’t think
Black Horse is that drunk. Anyway, for now, you must obey your father and come to the celebration.”

“Yes,” Meadow agreed. “You go on ahead, and I’ll come as soon as I change into my ceremonial gown.” She squeezed Gentle Water’s hand reassuringly. “I will come, I promise.”

Gentle Water hesitated for a moment. “I can help you get ready.”

“If you don’t trust me, I guess—” Meadow began in a hurt tone.

Gentle Water released her hold on Meadow’s hand. “I trust you, and I will go back and tell your father that you will be there soon.” The two girls stood up together and hugged affectionately.

“Thank you,” Meadow said as she pushed Gentle Water toward the opening in the tepee. She watched as the girl ducked through the doorway, then followed her out into the open. Wrapping her arms around herself, Meadow watched until Gentle Water disappeared from her sight. A heavy feeling settled in her chest—she hated lying to her best friend. But she could not go to the celebration to night.

Off in the distance, where the celebration was taking place, she could see the spiral of smoke rising up above the tops of the tepees. The delicious aroma of the roasted buffalo still filled the entire area, and she could hear the pulsating beat of the drums. She could envision the members of the tribe dancing with abandon around the fire pit. A part of her longed so much to join them, to laugh and dance and gorge herself on the delicious meat. She wanted to forget about Black Horse, and most of all she wanted to forget about the things that Gentle Water had told her. How would she be able
to go on living contentedly among these people, knowing that they judged her by the color of her skin?

A deeper ache lodged itself in Meadow’s breast. Of all the things she had worried about throughout the years—ambush, starvation, disease and death—she had never once thought that she would have to worry about where she belonged.